


Hands: A Drarry Fic

by toooldtolive



Series: A-Z Drarry [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Begging, Bottom Harry Potter, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Kinks, M/M, Top Draco Malfoy, draco decided nah thanks im good, i had a certain plot, im really sorry guys, this is going to be a mess, this was a trainwreck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 17,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22284889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toooldtolive/pseuds/toooldtolive
Summary: Harry swears up and down that he's been hexed by Malfoy--why else could he possibly find him attractive? Hermione has other theories.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Drarry - Relationship, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: A-Z Drarry [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570807
Comments: 42
Kudos: 116





	1. That's It, I've Had It

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm really sorry that this is a trainwreck (I haven't proofread at *all* and the plot was basically a fever dream)--if you see any typos, point them out! Any grammar mistakes! Lay it on me! Leave kudos and a compliment if you like it!
> 
> Thanks!

It was the middle of dinner when Harry suddenly stood up.

"That's _it_ , I've _had_ it," he said, walking away from the table.

Hermione and Ron looked at each other, then followed suit. Harry was marching straight towards the Slytherin table.

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled, glaring. "Malfoy, the fuck do you want _this_ time, huh?"

Malfoy just smirked. "Nothing, Potter, why? Has my seductive gaze gotten your panties in a knot? Can't handle a little bit of flirting?"

Ron looked at Hermione for confirmation that Malfoy had just said "flirting"--Hermione didn't respond. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Harry and Malfoy, trying to piece together what was going on. Harry's face was bright red, and his scar shone white on his forehead. Malfoy grinned, cat-like.

"Poor Saint Potter has never had anyone wink at him before, he's just so ugly--he doesn't know how to respond!"

Pansy, Blaise, and Daphne laughed. Well, if you can call Pansy's shrieks laughter. Harry balled up his fists.

"Listen here, Malfoy, I don't know what you're playing at--"

"Of course you don't, Potter. I can imagine no one with intellect has ever tried to actually interact with you before, you must be so baffled."

Hermione could see that Harry was about to burst--she really, really didn't want him to get detention for attempting to hex Malfoy again. That would make it the third time this week.

She didn't pull out her wand. She didn't need to. "Malfoy," she said, sharply. "Watch your mouth."

Malfoy sneered. "It's Potter that should be watching his, it's hanging open like a trap door."

There was an audible clicking sound--it seemed that Harry had, in fact, had his mouth open. Hermione was ticked. "Malfoy, we both know that I can beat you in a fight. Keep your foul mouth to yourself."

With that, she turned around, jerking her head at Harry to do the same. Still clearly smoldering with rage, he obediently followed. Malfoy jeered after them, "Potter needs someone to help him pick his fights, poor Potter."

When they got back to the table, Harry began gathering his things. Sighing in defeat, Ron and Hermione gathered theirs, too.

Once they were out in the hallway, Harry began ranting.

"Stupid Malfoy and his stupid tongue and his stupid hair and his stupid winks and his stupid--"

Ron cut in. "Mate, calm down. Malfoy's always been this way. Why did you expect him to change?"

Harry ground his teeth in frustration, stomping his foot on the floor. "I don't know! I figured after we'd saved the git's life and I testified in front of the entire court that he'd treat me with a bit of human decency! I thought that maybe, I don't know, we could have been friends! It seems so stupid now," he said, winding down. "I really thought we might have been able to start over."

They arrived in front of the portrait hole.

Ron sighed, pulling Harry into a hug. "Mate, sometimes people can't change. Malfoy has been a witless git ever since we met him, you can't expect the simple act of saving his life to suddenly give him brain cells."

Harry's voice was muffled by Ron's shoulder. "I didn't expect him to get _smarter_ , I just wanted him to at least leave me alone. I deserve to be left alone for a little bit, don't you think?"

Ron nodded, once. "Yeah, mate. You do deserve some rest."

Harry huffed. "I didn't die for this shit."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione laughed, and it was almost like the good old days again.


	2. Quit Looking at Malfoy and his... oh. Merlin.

The next morning, Harry was very quiet. Too quiet. Hermione stopped her reading and looked at him. Since the war had ended, Ron and Harry both had become more physically affectionate--ruffling each other’s hair, leaning on each other, giving hugs when needed. It was a big relief to Hermione, who had always carried the burden of comforting both boys--now that they could communicate healthily, she could focus on her own emotional health. Despite this, Harry's odd expression was making her go crazy.

She followed his line of sight to see... Malfoy. Of course. She sighed. But why was Harry turning pink like that? It wasn't rage--he'd calmed down after last night, and they'd talked it out in the Gryffindor Boys' room--Harry, Ron, and Hermione laying on Harry's bed together, just talking.

She looked at Malfoy again. He was eating... almonds? He was smiling, and he was carefully putting each almond into his mouth, then licking the finger that--ah. This must have been what he was doing last night, as well. It was almost like he was attempting to seduce Harry. Hermione shook her head. That would be ridiculous, Malfoy was dating Astoria.

She looked back at Harry. He looked distinctly... uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable, he looked... he looked...

He looked like Ron did when Ron wanted... _Ah_ , thought Hermione. _Now I get it._

Hermione couldn't help but smile. Malfoy was likely going to get more than what he'd bargained for--Harry was a passionate person overall, and if he knew he couldn't have him sexually, he was likely going to try to hex his arse off. Hermione wasn't even sure that Harry himself knew why the flirting pissed him off so much.

She heard snickering from the other end of the hall and turned to look at Malfoy again. Now he was blatantly licking each sausage before he slid it into his mouth, and Harry's arousal could not be plainer. Pansy's hissing laughter could be heard by everyone, and people were starting to turn to look at Harry. He looked aggressive but confused. He was sexually confused. Malfoy was sexually confusing him.

Hermione closed her book. Time to intervene.

"Harry," she whispered, making eye contact with Ron. "Harry, you haven't touched your food."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, mate, eat something. Quit looking at Malfoy and his... oh. Merlin."

Hermione shot him a glare. "Harry, eat something. Ignore Malfoy."

Harry suddenly shook his head, looking at Hermione for the first time. "Huh?"

Ron snickered. "Coherent," he said.

Hermione glared at him again and hissed, "Ronald!"

Ron shrugged. "It's Malfoy, darling. Harry's never been terribly good at ignoring him. Now we might as well let them stare it out."

Hermione sighed. It was going to be an awfully long eighth year if Harry and Malfoy were going to stare at each other every meal.


	3. Chapter 3

That day, in Herbology class, Harry was very, very distracted. He kept spilling things, knocking things over, and once, almost getting himself skewered by a vicious venomous tentacula. Ron had had to yank him out of the way before it got him. Ron decided that Harry should probably take a back seat and let Neville do the work. Both Harry and Neville were more than happy to oblige.

After class, the Golden Trio was sitting in the Gryffindor Boys' Room. It was quiet and empty, as most people had gone to supper already. Hermione braced herself, then just went for the kill.

"Harry, do you have a crush on Malfoy?"

Ron and Harry both stopped speaking. For a moment there was pure silence, then--

"'Mione, _what_ \--" "Hermione, I would literally _never_ \--" "I'm offended you would even _think_ that Harry would _ever_ \--"

Hermione waved her hand in the air, stopping both of their protests. She looked at Harry, who had gone extremely red. "Harry, be honest. When Malfoy was... doing... _that_ with the sausages this morning, how did you feel?"

"Hermione! I-- I just-- He was _licking_ them, Hermione, any sane bloke would get a-- I just-- It doesn't mean that I'm _attracted_ to him!"

Ron went very quiet. "Harry, mate... Did you... you know... get hard? Off Malfoy?"

Harry blinked at Ron. "I-- I just... I-- Yes, okay? I did. I-- I watched him eat those stupid almonds then he ate that stupid pudding with that stupid spoon and he licked it and he knew that I was getting hard as he licked it so he pulled out a whole damn plateful of sausages _just to fuck with me_."

Harry was breathing hard. Ron looked shocked, and not a bit mortified. "Harry... Do you... like... Malfoy?"

"No!" Harry practically yelled. "I can't stand the prick! He's arrogant, annoying, an overall shitty person, and worst of all, he started wearing blue!"

Hermione suddenly sat up. "Harry, did you just say that you think he's annoying because he's begun to... wear blue?"

"Yes, Hermione! He's clearly gotten a new cloak. It's baby blue and has all this ghastly silver embroidery on it, birds and leaves and such, it brings out his stupid little glittery eyes and it makes his hair look all white and shiny--the fucking prick--and he keeps _smiling_ at me like he knows something that I don't and it's driving me insane!"

Hermione just stared at Harry for a couple seconds before she began to laugh. Harry and Ron looked at her blankly as she fell off the bed, clutching her sides. "H-H--" She was trying to say something, but the laughter was taking too much out of her. "H-Harry," she finally managed. "H-How do you even? How can you--?"

Finally, Hermione calmed down enough to get back on the bed, where Ron and Harry were now both sitting up, staring at her. "Harry," she started, before bursting into a fit of giggles again.

Harry groaned and flopped backwards, covering his face. "Hermione, spit it out already! What's so funny?" Ron demanded.

"Harry, have you ever thought about the fact that you might be bisexual?"

Harry looked at her, blankly. "That I might be what?"

Hermione turned serious. "Bisexual, Harry. It means you like both men and women. Sexually."

Harry made a face. "Hermione, I'm not _gay_ , if that's what you're asking. I did date Ginny, you know."

Hermione sighed, and Ron snickered. "No, Harry, I _don't_ mean gay. I mean bisexual. Have you ever had these kinds of thoughts about any other men?"

Ron made a face, but then Harry stopped him. "Y-Yeah, actually."

Ron looked over, surprised. "I always thought that it was... normal. You notice everyone around you. You think about girls and guys the same way. Is that not... Is that not normal?"

Ron opened his mouth as if to comment, then shut it. Hermione shook her head slightly. "If by normal, you mean heterosexual, then no, Harry. I don't think Ron has _ever_ thought about Malfoy's cloaks matching his eyes--have you?"

Ron shook his head vehemently no. "Mione, you know I hate the git. Why would I ever want to _think_ about him?"

Harry looked surprised. "But... we always thought about him. Every time. When something went wrong, it was always Malfoy. Surely you both must have thought about him as much as I did?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, Harry. I think you might have always had a small crush on him, but you masked it with anger. You didn't know how to respond to feelings that you felt were socially taboo. It's okay to realize it, Harry, and it doesn't make you any less of a person."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, if you want to shag blokes, it's fine by us. Just... maybe not... you know. The Ferret."

Harry laughed, weakly. "So, I'm... So... you're saying that I've _always_ been... bisexual. Bisexual?"

"Yes, Harry, I think you've always been bisexual. But you were so busy saving the world that you didn't have time to really think about your own emotional needs and mental health. Now that we're done with all of that, it's about time that we all looked inwards."

Ron nodded, slightly. "Charlie's asexual, you know. That means he doesn't like _anyone_ sexually. For a while he thought something inside of him was broken, but no. He just likes taking care of dragons more than he likes taking care of people, and that's okay. It's great, actually. He always sends us the weirdest gifts--stuff that's usually meant for dragons."

Harry nodded, slowly. "Yeah, I remember him mentioning that he didn't like girls... _that_ way. I figured he might just be gay... You're saying he doesn't like _anyone_?" Harry made a face.

Ron laughed. "No, Harry, he still _likes_ people, he just doesn't want to have sex with them. That's all."

Hermione chimed in, "it's all perfectly natural, and people like different things. If you happen to have a crush on Malfoy, that's okay."

"Well, _blokes_ maybe... but I don't really know if you want to try pursuing _Malfoy_ , I mean, he's _Malfoy_.

Harry nodded, once. "Okay, I... I think I get it. So, I'm bisexual, because I like men _and_ women sexually. Charlie's asexual, because he likes no one sexually. And you're both... heterosexual?"

Ron nodded, but Hermione shook her head. Both Harry and Ron turned to her, surprised. "I'm bisexual, too. I actually had a crush on _Pansy_ once, if you'd believe it." Both Harry and Ron pulled faces.

"Yes, I know. It goes to show, Harry, that you don't always get to choose who you crush on, and that's okay. I'm sure your crush on Malfoy will pass, but until then, we'll support you and back you up like we always do."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, guys."

Ron pulled them into a group hug, and Harry felt a sigh of relief leave his lungs. He hadn't even known he was worried about their approval.


	4. It Got Worse Dammit Hermione

It had been two weeks, and Harry's crush on Malfoy had not "passed". If anything, it had gotten worse.

Malfoy was avidly trying to rile Harry up, and Harry was completely susceptible. Anything Malfoy did, Harry looked ready to flee or punch him. Sometimes he would do both. Sometimes he would do none. But either way, Malfoy was absolutely delighting in Harry's discomfort. Hermione was annoyed. Harry had asked her, around the time that he'd had his revelation, to let him fight this battle himself. It was something he felt he needed to face head-on, he'd said. Since then, he had done everything but face Malfoy's taunting head-on. Hermione had had enough.

They were in Transfiguration, and McGonagall's replacement was not nearly as vigilant as she. Malfoy was winking, sucking on his quill, and just generally being a nuisance. Hermione huffed, then quietly sent a stinging jinx his way. His yelp of pain did not go unnoticed, and neither did Ron's snicker. Both were given detention. Hermione groaned, putting her head in her hands when the professor called Ron out. Harry, too, face palmed hard. With his hands still covering his mouth, he started laughing at Ron's misfortune. The professor took off house points from Gryffindor. Harry laughed louder. Finally, she gave him a detention as well. Hermione got detention for smacking her head against the desk in defeat, for, quote, "attitude". Malfoy snickered, and she threatened to give him more detention. He stopped snickering.

That night, they all showed up to the professor's office. She dismissed Hermione immediately, telling her not to do it again. She assigned Ron an extra essay and put him into an empty classroom to do it. He would not be permitted to leave until he finished it. After she had sent Ron and Hermione away, she turned to Harry. "Harry Potter, I honestly expected better from you."

"So does everyone else! I'm just a kid who didn't die--why does everyone expect so much of me?"

The professor's face changed color. "You are _not_ just a child who did not die--you are a symbol of hope, young man, and you need to start acting your age."

Harry snorted. "Sorry, I'll just go directly to work at the Ministry, then, like everyone seems to want me to... Ah, wait. I can't. I missed the last two years of my education because Voldemort decided to make a guest appearance at Hogwarts."

The professor's eyes flashed with anger, and next to her, Malfoy snorted into his hand. He expertly turned it into a rather forced cough. "Mr. Potter, I was going to let you two off with a warning, but now I can see that perhaps you do need some disciplining. All your life, you've been treated with deference. I will do no such thing. You will both be cleaning all the chalk boards in the Lower Floor--without magic. You are not permitted to go to bed until you are finished. That is all. Dismissed."

Harry glared defiantly back at the professor. "I didn't die for this shit," he said, then conjured a rag and a bucket. He pushed past her into the classroom and set to work. Malfoy looked at him, amused. He, too, conjured a rag, and followed Harry in. The professor left.

"So, Potter," he drawled, after two minutes of silent wiping had gone by. "Even when you're angry, you'll still what you're told, is that right?"

Harry glared at the chalk board, wiping it silently. He didn't respond.

Malfoy grinned. "Always did what you were told in your auntie's house?"

Harry didn't respond. Malfoy prodded him with the teacher's pointer. "Potter?" Harry sighed, and put his rag down. He didn't look at Malfoy as he pulled out a desk and sat in it, dropping his head into his hands. Malfoy's smirk wavered. "Potter...?"

"Malfoy, for once in your life, could you not be annoying?" Harry's voice was distorted by his hands, but Malfoy could hear the plea behind it.

"Potter, if I didn't annoy you, who would? It's not like anyone's ever going to _really_ try to be your enemy. Everyone only ever wants to be your friend. Or haven't you realized that?"

Harry looked up. Malfoy was sitting on the desk in front of him, legs crossed daintily at the ankles. His legs were balanced on the chair, and his hands were in his lap. He was looking up, his eyes tracing the ceiling patterns.

"I've found that a refreshing person, for good or for bad, can really liven up your day."

Harry snorted. Malfoy continued, quieter, looking down at his hands.

"Everyone was always afraid of me, intimidated by me, or wanted something from me. Now the war is over, and I just want people to see me as my own person. But no, I can't be afforded that. Who needs basic human dignity? The Hufflepuffs avoid me like I could snap at any moment and suddenly decide to hex everyone. The younger Gryffindors all avoid me if they can but are loud and obnoxious when they're around me, because they refuse to admit that they're afraid. The older Gryffindors are all unnecessarily cruel. Slytherins and Ravenclaws alike either want something or think they can gain something from "teaching" me to be good. No one ever sees me as anything else but as a means to an end, Potter."

Malfoy paused. Harry sat, quiet. Where was he going with this?

"Until you. You saw me as my own person--even though you always believed that that person was a nuisance, a threat, a villain, you always believed that every choice that I made, every little thing that happened, was because I had planned it that way. You were the only one who believed me to be smart enough to make all these evil schemes--half the time, you were giving me way too much credit. But I thrived in your attention, Potter. I thrived in knowing that I was the other half to your bright goodness--you deemed _me_ to be your arch nemesis when the Dark Lord was right there. You decided that _I_ was worthy of your constant suspicion. It gave me hope that there was, at least, someone who believed me capable of doing something on my own. That I was a decision maker, in control of my own life."

Malfoy paused for breath.

"Then you left. You were gone. We'd all thought you were dead. And I, when I saw you that night, lying there, looking dead as could be, I--"

Malfoy hiccupped. Harry realized, with a start, that Malfoy was crying. "I was so... I realized that I... I didn't thrive in your attention because you were Harry Potter and I was a Slytherin and I hated you. I thrived because, because..."

Malfoy stopped talking, and his head dropped into his hands. For a moment, neither of them said anything, and the only thing that could be heard was Malfoy's quiet sniffles and Harry's steady breathing.

"Malfoy... I-- I don't know what to say to that."

"Say nothing, Potter, and just continue as if I never said it. But know that I don't harass you out of hatred--I enjoy annoying you because you're one of the only people who makes me feel anything other than despair. You make me laugh when you pout or rage or threaten me. It's funny."

Malfoy gave a low chuckle, and Harry had to laugh a little with him. Harry supposed that his raging _was_ kind of funny...

"I don't hate you, Potter. I actually might... like you. A little bit."

Harry's head was spinning. Did Malfoy mean _like_ like or just... like? As a potential friend? Or as something... more?

Harry was stunned by Malfoy's confession, and it seemed like his mouth had a mind of it's own.

"I like you too. A lot, actually. Not a little. I--I've always responded to you, because of the stuff you said, yeah, and you always treated me different than everyone else did, like I wasn't some great savior or whatever. You always believed that I made my own choices, too, but you also gave credit where credit was due. You always told me that I didn't deserve all the fame and glory that I had, and you were absolutely right. I always responded to you because... because I recently found out that I was bisexual and that I've always had a crush on you. Hermione figured it out, not me. And I, I think maybe that we could--?"

Malfoy was looking at him like he'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "Potter, a, a crush? Did you just say that you had a--?”

Harry suddenly stood up. "Er..."

 _Oh no,_ he thought. Malfoy was trying to make amends and become friends, and here Harry was, admitting to his crush on him. _Oh, oh no. Oh Merlin._

"I've got to-- I can't--"

If anyone had been standing outside that classroom, they would have seen a _very_ confused Draco Malfoy staring as a _very_ red Harry Potter ran out of the room, full speed.


	5. Shit Fuck Dammit NO--

Harry nearly collided with six different suits of armor in his desperate attempt to flee. Some of the more obnoxious secret passageways only worked sometimes, and Harry didn't have the Marauders' Map on him. He didn't have his cloak, either.

He was just running, running, running blindly away from Draco Malfoy and his beautiful confession and what was going to be the worst heartbreak of his life.

Harry Potter was scared. So scared, in fact, that he threw himself into a service passageway and sat there, shivering, not with cold, but with fear. Anxiety.

He had confessed to Draco Malfoy, and Malfoy had not felt the same. Had never even considered him that way. Draco Malfoy was straight, and he, Harry Potter, was not. It was a sequence straight out of Harry's nightmares.

_Why oh why did he have to open his big mouth? Why couldn't he have done something rational, like hugging Malfoy or saying something nice back? Why did he have to fuck up everything he touched?_

That night, Draco Malfoy barely slept. He stayed up until 4 am, wiping classroom boards. Someone had told him to, after all. And Draco Malfoy couldn't disobey people, even if he wanted to--he, like Harry Potter, had been trained too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, did someone say Praise Kink???


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Harry Potter awoke to the sound of dishes clattering on the floor. A house-elf had dropped them. Multiple house-elves, it looked like. Harry rubbed his eyes. Why was there a line of house-elves staring at him? He rubbed his cheek. It sore from where he had been sleeping... ah. Yes. The service tunnels. Harry had been so mortified by-- Oh Merlin. Oh no. His confession. To Malfoy.

Harry put his head in his hands for the third time in twenty-four hours and groaned. The house elves had already cleaned up the broken plates with their magic, fixing them all with a couple waves of their tiny arms. Now they were all gathered around him, the dishes floating in the air around them. Their luminous eyes peered into his, and he felt just a bit safer--there was no way anyone, other than the house elves, would ever find him here. He doubted most of the professors even knew where this was. He spotted a house-elf that he knew, Flopsy. He smiled feebly at her, and she smiled back at him, her ears waggling a little bit. "Does Mr. Potter need assistance...?"

He laughed a little, quietly. "Not really, Flopsy, but thanks. I really don't think you could help me with the type of mess that I just made..."

Flopsy tilted her head to the side, clearly curious. She, like the other house-elves, were always exceedingly in awe of him, and he could tell that she was itching to ask. The only thing keeping her from asking was her immense respect for him. Harry chuckled a little, a dry, pathetic sounding thing, then sighed. "You can ask, Flopsy, go ahead. I'll do my best to answer whatever you want to ask."

Flopsy's tiny face split into a huge grin--she knew that Harry Potter favored her. Once, she had mentioned that her favorite food was dirigible plums. Now, whenever Harry found a dirigible plum in Herbology class or in Hogsmeade, he would wrap it up nicely in a silver pillowcase, with a note saying that it was to be delivered to Flopsy. Often, Flopsy knew before the actual delivery when Harry had gotten plums, and directly came to accept the plums in person. In elf. Luna Lovegood had helped with the creation of the pillow-case, and she herself often gave him some of her family's plums to give to Flopsy whenever her father sent some from their home.

Now, she could feel the other house-elves' eyes upon her, and she felt awfully important. Harry Potter was letting her ask about his personal life! She thought for a moment. She really, really wanted to know...

"Mr. Potter, last night you were seen running away from Draco Malfoy. You were both very red. Did you kiss him?"

Harry choked on air. "Did I--" He spluttered, " _Kiss_ \-- M-Malfoy?"

Flopsy beamed, and nodded enthusiastically, her little ears flopping all about. "Mr. Potter likes Mr. Malfoy, sir, and Mr. Malfoy said that he likes him, too!"

Harry groaned again, putting his head in his hands. Again. He rubbed his face. "Flopsy... He... He doesn't like me that way. I do. I like him that way. But he doesn't like me that way. He's straight."

Harry paused. "And he's dating Astoria."

Flopsy shook her head, and several other house elves stifled some laughter. "Mr. Malfoy doesn't like Miss Greengrass anymore. We saw her crying, yes, we did. Mr. Malfoy likes Harry Potter, we have heard him say it to her, sir!"

Harry smiled. He had forgotten that house-elves were all over the school, all the time, listening in on the juicy gossip of Hogwarts. If he ever wanted to know what someone on the other side of the castle was doing, he could just ask a house-elf. They'd know.

"So... Astoria... and Malfoy? They're... not together anymore?"

Flopsy shook her head happily. "Miss Greengrass is with Miss Parkinson now! And Mr. Potter will be with Mr. Malfoy, because of the kiss?" She blinked her luminous eyes at him, and several of the other house-elves nodded along.

"Thank you, Flopsy, but no. We didn't kiss. And I don't think we ever will, unfortunately. Thanks, though. Now, how do I get to Gryffindor Tower from here?" The house elves all laughed, then Flopsy said, "Mr. Potter should go to breakfast now, sir, it's ten ‘o’clock!"

Harry suddenly stood up, banging his head on the low ceiling. His eyes watered. "Ten? Now? It's ten? Oh Merlin, I'm going to be late to Care of Magical Creatures!"

Flopsy grabbed his hand, and her set of plates floated in close. "This way, Mr. Potter! Flopsy will take you there quickly!"

Harry smiled, grateful. "Thanks, Flopsy. You're the best."

She beamed with pleasure, then lead their little party of elves, plates, and Harry Potter out to Hagrid's Hut.


	7. Boggarts and Bruises

Harry was not only not late, he was early. Too early. Hagrid was still inside his hut, and the only person out there was--

"Malfoy."

Flopsy nodded, then shoved him out of the passageway. Harry felt himself being pushed up through the ground by magic--he wondered what it looked like.

Judging by Malfoy's face, it looked... strange. Malfoy drew his wand, pointing it at Harry's chest. "What kind of creature are you, hmm? Popping out of the ground like that. You can't possibly believe that I'd fall for that."

Harry blinked. Malfoy thought he was a magical creature, disguised as himself. This could be... informative. Perhaps Malfoy would even admit something...

"I'm a boggart," Harry said, trying to look menacing. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, a boggart would never_ tell _him that!_

Malfoy blinked. "It's sunny out here. We're outdoors. You're not actively scaring me. Whatever you are, you're not a boggart. Nice try."

Malfoy cast a complicated-looking spell, and Harry felt... nothing. Malfoy swore. "Why isn't it working?"

Harry blinked. Did Malfoy know some sort of creature identifying spell? "Okay, if you claim you're a boggart, then what do I fear most?"

"Your father," Harry blurted out, then immediately mentally berated himself. He wished he could take it back, because Malfoy looked shocked. It was clearly the wrong answer, because Malfoy raised his wand, pointed it at him, then shouted--

"Riddikulus!"

Nothing happened. Obviously. Harry let out a breath. So, his suspicions had been correct, then. He, like Harry, had been neglected and possibly abused. For some reason, this similarity twanged at his heart. At least his aunt and uncle had the excuses of being frightened muggles--Lucius Malfoy should never have treated his son that way. Never.

Malfoy deflated, visibly. Harry walked towards him and reached out his hand. Malfoy backed away. "No, no, no, leave me alone! I don't need you to tell me that I fear my father;s wrath, I don't need you to tell me that he'll never accept me for who I am or who I love, I don't need this kind of--"

Harry cut Malfoy off. "You don't love Astoria, do you? You never did, did you? She wasn't enough for you, was she?"

Malfoy backed away. "Get away from me! Go bother someone else!"

Harry advanced further. "Nothing is ever enough for you, is it, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's face screwed up with emotion--fear? Despair? He practically shouted, "I don't need you to tell me that Potter will never lov--!"

Hagrid's door opened. Harry immediately stopped walking, and Malfoy cut himself off. "Harry!" Hagrid boomed, locking his door behind him. "I've got a great lesson for today, really summat special, I--"

Hagrid stopped talking when he saw Harry and Malfoy standing there, facing each other, Malfoy's wand out. "What's goin' on out 'ere?"

Malfoy put his wand away quickly. Harry could see his eyes scanning up and down, then coming to the obvious conclusion: that had, in fact, been Harry. The entire time. He had just been about to say, quote, "I don't need you to tell me that Potter will never love..." Me? Potter will never love... Malfoy?

_Harry.exe has stopped functioning._

Malfoy, on the other hand, recovered much quicker. "Potter and I were practicing some dueling spells. He says I'm the only person who won't hold back when I attempt to jinx him."

Harry just stared at Malfoy, dumbly. Dueling? They were dueling? No, no, Malfoy was confessing that he didn't want Astoria, that he... loved...

Hagrid clapped his massive hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "'M glad you've come around, Malfoy. 'S good to see yeh workin' together with 'arry, 'stead of against 'im."

Malfoy rubbed his shoulder, and Harry felt his own heart twang in response. He knew firsthand how much Hagrid's well-meaning affection hurt.


	8. Two Headed, Double-Edged?

Ron and Hermione arrived, together. Everyone gathered around Hagrid, who looked like he just couldn't wait for the lesson to start. If Harry hadn't been so preoccupied with Malfoy and his (highly unlikely?) crush on Harry, he would have been nervous. Hagrid had never, ever been excited for a creature that was any less menacing than a dragon. Three-headed dogs. Acromantulas. Literal dragons. And now...

"Chimaeras!"

Something stirred in the back of Harry's head. A Chimaera? Why did this name sound somewhat familiar? Why did...

Hermione looked vaguely like she might faint. Malfoy looked like he was going to be sick. Everyone else looked panic-stricken. Only the female Hufflepuff Harry couldn't remember the name of looked even vaguely ready to stomach whatever a Chimera was.

Judging by everyone's reactions, everyone else knew what a Chimaera was. Harry wracked his brain. Chimaera... Chimaera... oh. Oh no. Hagrid's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Yer in fer a real treat! I managed ter--don' ask me how, mind--I managed ter get aholda some Chimaera cubs! There's four total, so that'll be one for each pairin'!"

Hagrid beamed at the eight Eighth Years, and they all stared grimly back. "Hagrid," Hermione started. "Chimeras eggs are classified as Class A Non-Tradeable Materials. There has only been one instance of a wizard who was able to defeat one, and he died soon after from his wounds and exhaustion. They are in Category 5--extremely dangerous and lethal."

Hagrid beamed. "Exactly! Ten points ter Gryffindor!"

He leaned down closer to Hermione, and stage-whispered, "'Member when I tried to get one back when ye were fif' years? An' that 'orrible woman was 'specting all the teachers, an' so I couldn'ta gotten one?"

Hermione nodded, faintly. Hagrid beamed. "Alright, partner time! 'Arry, since you an' Malfoy been workin' together, yer gonna be a pair, Ron an' Hermione, obviously, an’, uhm, you two, yep…"

Harry and Malfoy looked at each other. _Partners. Great._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I searched through the entirety of ootp and didn't find ONE instance of Hagrid insulting Umbridge--this being said, I inserted one because everyone fucking hates her and she fucking deserves to be insulted, horrible bitch.


	9. Throw Me On The Ground Like My Life Depends On It

Harry wasn't exactly sure how he had gotten through the lesson. Several times, they'd been forced to practically leap on top of each other to avoid their respective heads--who knew the goat head had fire breath, too? Worse yet, it seemed to be some sort of enchanted fire--the fire-proofing spells that Harry and Malfoy had cast on each other weren't working. It was only when Malfoy suggested using the counter-curse to fieldfyre--Expugno Maleficum--that they were at least able to put out the flames when the Chimaera spewed them onto the ground. Each time Malfoy leaped in front of him to block the fire, pushed him aside, or yanked him close, Harry's heart leapt in his chest. He wasn't sure if he could stand another lesson like this, because Malfoy was continually forced to touch him, and he to touch Malfoy. Once, he even had to tackle him and roll him under and behind the Chimaera--both heads had decided to target Malfoy, and Malfoy had been busy putting out his singed robes. Upon standing up behind the beast, Malfoy had nodded, once, and cast the fire rope spell to lasso the Chimaera in. Harry could still feel himself tingling slightly from where Malfoy's body had touched him. 

Malfoy had been giving orders the entire lesson--some were helpful, others irritating. 

"Duck!" 

"Move!" 

"Come here!" 

"Move your arse, why are you in my spot? The Chimaera's goat head is... Ack! MOVE!" 

The Chimaera's lion head had turned towards Malfoy, and the goat's head was already aimed at him, and the mouths were both opening, and Malfoy was going to be hit if he didn't-- 

"Move your ARSE!" 

Malfoy shot him a dirty look, and immediately was swarmed with fire. Luckily, Harry had already begun the counter-curse. The enchanted fire was being sucked into his wand as it was being spewed at Malfoy. Malfoy was surrounded by fiery tendrils of enchanted fire—his hair shone golden, orangey-red in the fire. Harry nearly lost his concentration while staring at Malfoy. Both the Chimaera and Malfoy grunted when the fire was all vanished. Malfoy looked at him then, strangely. Harry wondered what Malfoy was thinking. He almost got hit with the next bout of fire. 

"Malfoy, get _off_ of me, you git--!" The Chimaera had been successfully backed into a fire-proofed cage, and now Malfoy was draped across him, having just cast a shielding charm over them both at the last second. Harry could feel his... his... _Ah, shit._

Malfoy looked surprised to find himself on top of Harry. For a moment, there was a flash of panic across his face. Then, he smoothed it over. Malfoy's characteristic sneer was back in place, and he lifted his body slightly off the ground, almost in pushup position. Almost. His body was pressed right up against Harry's, and Harry was absolutely desperate that Malfoy not feel his... his... 

"Get off, Malfoy." 

Malfoy smirked, wickedly. From inside the cage, the Chimaera blew a spray of fire. For a moment, Malfoy looked wreathed in flames. Malfoy licked his lips. 

"Make me, Potter." 

Harry was breathing fast now, and his pulse was racing ridiculously. He licked his lips. Soot, grass, and the insistent need to kiss Malfoy. Stupid, perfect Malfoy and his beautifully manicured hand that was now travelling down his chest, his torso, closer and closer to his... 

Hagrid's booming voice rang out through the forest, and Malfoy leapt up off Harry, deftly and elegantly, like a cat. Harry had laid there on the ground, more stunned than if Malfoy had charmed him. Which, he had. Just, not magically. What was Harry even doing on the ground? 

Malfoy walking out of their clearing brought Harry out of his stunned silence. He sat up. "Malfoy, what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing? Where are you going? Get back here, you git, you need to explain--" 

Malfoy turned around. He smiled, almost sinister. "I don't need to explain anything to you, Potter, because my business is my own. Good luck getting rid of _that_ , by the way," he sneered, casting his gaze down Harry's frame to the front of his pants. 

Harry’s vision turned red. Harry was going to get him. He was going to smite him with all that fake righteous goodness that everyone seemed to think he had, he was going to... 

Hermione walked into the clearing. "Harry? Why are you still here?" 

Harry shook his head. Stupid Malfoy had left already. How long had he been standing here, fuming? 

"It's nothing, Hermione. Just Malfoy. Didn't want to walk back with him. You know, what with my... problems with him." 

Hermione nodded and happened to glance down. She smiled a tiny bit, and she nodded her head quickly. "Oh yes, your... problem with him. Definitely. Understandable." 

Harry scowled. "'Mione!" 

She laughed, running away, and they went to grab Ron.


	10. Chapter 10

After class, Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed off to Gryffindor tower, and Harry was living his worst nightmare. The stupid boner must have been enchanted, because it wasn't going away, no matter what he thought about. Intrusive thoughts about Malfoy and his stupid hand and the way he looked when he'd whipped off his cloak--it was burning--with the fire behind him... He looked ethereal, god-like, and so, so fit...

"...Harry!" Harry blinked. They were in their room, and Harry was on his bed. They were dealing with his... problem. Hermione had a giant book, and it looked like she and Ron were losing patience with him.

“Harry, this is just a normal crush. You just have to wait it out, like everyone else."

Harry groaned in frustration. “Hermione, I can’t just _wait it out_. Malfoy _knows_! I swear, he _must_ have hexed me or something, I could’ve fallen for anyone! Why did it have to be him?”

Ron frowned, looking at the book in Hermione’s hands. "'Mione, look! There's a cure here! Cures all magic-induced love potions and spells! Why didn't you just use the... cure. Oh. Never mind."

Hermione giggled a little bit. Giggled. "Yes, Ronald, I was going to withhold a reasonable cure for his problem. Of course not. It's ridiculous, and Malfoy knows that it’s ridiculous. I really don’t think he hexed you, Harry, I just think he’s using the situation to his advantage. He means to torture you. The only thing I can’t understand is why he's still so set on riling you up, Harry."

Harry frowned. What could possibly be so bad about this cure?

"What's the cure, guys?"

They both winced a little. "Mate, I honestly think it might be better for you not to know, honest..."

"Harry, it's really would be easier if you didn't--"

"Stop it! Stop withholding information! We agreed that we wouldn't keep secrets anymore. We agreed, that, that, after the war, we wouldn't... there'd be no more..."

Harry stopped himself. The Order had kept so many secrets. Dumbledore had kept so many secrets. Even Sirius had kept secrets from him. Remus. Tonks. They'd all tried to "protect" him, and now, without him knowing the knowledge that could have saved them, they all... they all...

Harry's vision tunneled, and he could feel himself hyperventilating.

Ron got out of his bed and sat next to Harry. He put his arm around him, and they sat like that for a minute. Finally, Hermione sighed. "Alright, Harry, but don't blame me when it drives you nuts."

Harry sniffled a little and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Ron chuckled and conjured a tissue. Harry blew his nose properly, and jokingly acted as if he meant to wipe the tissue on Ron's face. Ron made a sound of disgust, nimbly leaping from Harry's bed to his own, and Harry had a half-hearted laugh. Hermione chuckled, then the room was quiet again.

Harry looked at Hermione expectantly. Hermione sighed again.

"Alright, well, it's... sex. You could have sex with Malfoy, after drinking the counter-potion. That would make it go away."

Harry blinked, and his sex drive stirred. Sex? With Malfoy? His boner almost seemed to be screaming at him, tugging at his pants painfully. _Sex with Malfoy! Sex with Malfoy! Sex with--_

Harry smacked himself in the crotch. "Ouch!"

Ron groaned and flopped back on his bed, covering his eyes. “Oh, mate. You’re whipped.”

Harry scowled at Ron.

The boner went down a bit—but was back up soon as soon as Harry started thinking about Malfoy again. Sex... with Malfoy. Absurd. Sex... he'd been thinking about having sex with Malfoy for the past two weeks. What would it be like, to have sex with another man? What would it be like, to see Malfoy submit to him, to see Malfoy's obnoxious little pointy face moan and groan his name...?

 _Oh, no._ Hermione was _absolutely_ right, it had been _far_ better when Harry didn't know.


	11. Detention Sex?

The next day was terrible. Potions with Malfoy. Herbology with Malfoy. Transfiguration with Malfoy. Worse yet, more detention with Malfoy. Apparently, sending a stinging hex towards Malfoy's crotch is worthy of detention. So was Malfoy's answering stinging hex, also towards his crotch. Hermione had come up with a genius plan to hide his, ah, reoccurring issue. She modified the fabric of the front of his pants to be like her bag--it carried more than it looked like it carried. To the rest of the world, Harry Potter looked distinctly un-horny. This, apparently, infuriated Malfoy to no end. 

That night, Harry was dreading detention. Last time, he'd royally fucked up by telling Malfoy that he'd had a crush on him. In retaliation, he'd pretended to be a boggart. In retaliation for that, Malfoy had apparently thought it funny to drug him with a love potion. Or maybe he’d even given it to him two weeks ago, when this all started…? It was time for Harry to get his revenge. To all the world, it looked like he didn't have a boner for Draco Malfoy. He could use this to his advantage tonight, when Malfoy questioned him about it... 

Malfoy was late to detention. He was wearing... "Honestly, Malfoy? Why the nice clothes? We're in detention, not a fashion show." 

Malfoy smiled at him, demurely. "Potter, perhaps you don't understand the need to present oneself well, but I always carry myself with dignity." Malfoy made a meaningful glance at his crotch area. 

Harry's temper flared. It wasn't like he had _asked_ to be this way, Malfoy had caused this, the little git, he... 

The professor cleared her throat. Harry looked at her. She was standing there, arms crossed over her chest, clearly waiting for something. Harry wondered if she had said something. Malfoy looked equally startled--clearly, they had both forgotten why they were there. The professor sighed and rubbed her temples. "Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy. Since you have already so kindly cleaned the chalkboards, I give you two options: I could send you down to Mr. Filch, who can assign tasks for you to do--" both boys flinched--"or you can do something constructive, together. I don't care what it is. Preferably, schoolwork. Do you have any schoolwork you could do together?" 

Harry looked at Malfoy. They had a lot of schoolwork they could do together, since they were in nearly all the same classes together. Harry was just thinking that he kind of needed help on his 8th Year potions project, and, well, if Malfoy was being _forced_ to help him, then it wouldn't hurt to get him to help out. 

Malfoy spoke up. "Chimaera." 

Harry's insides recoiled. Malfoy wanted to go, willingly, work with the Chimaera without Hagrid's supervision? Sure, Hagrid didn't really help much when it came to fending off the fires, taming the creature, or really at all, but it was comforting knowing he was there. Plus, the Chimaera's cage was in the Forest. Why would Malfoy...? 

"A Chimaera? On Hogwarts grounds?" 

Malfoy nodded. "The Eighth Years are working with Chimaera cubs, and Potter and I are partners." 

Harry grimaced. _Partners._ Oh, if only Malfoy meant that in the way Harry wished he would, the git. Instead, here they were serving out detention for fighting. Again. 

The professor nodded. "Yes, alright. Go work on the Chimaera project--I expect to see some sort of evidence tomorrow during class!" 

With that, she closed the door in their faces. Harry groaned, as loud as he could. "Malfoy, what were you _thinking_? You _want_ to go deal with that hell beast again? Seriously? What is wrong with y--" 

Harry was abruptly cut off by Malfoy's hand over his mouth. He felt his back slam against the wall, and his heart pounded in his chest. Harry wrenched the hand away, about to demand what the fuck Malfoy thought he was doing, when Malfoy said, "Potter, shut your mouth." 

Harry did as he was told. He shut his mouth. 

"We're not going to release it, you idiot. We're going to study it. Safely. From outside the cage. Who knows? Maybe having us around will make it grow accustomed to us. Maybe it'll be less inclined to attack during class tomorrow." 

Harry blinked. That was smart. Most creatures take a while of constant presence and feeding to grow accustomed to a human--perhaps the Chimaera was the same? 

Harry nodded, and he and Malfoy headed down to the Forbidden Forest.


	12. Submit To Me

Harry's boner was driving him up the wall. So far, Malfoy had instructed him to try a bunch of things with the Chimaera--after all, we don't know much about them, do we, Potter, since they're bloodthirsty dangerous creatures? 

Bowing in front of it had nearly gotten him roasted alive. Also, his backside had been completely exposed to Malfoy, a fact that he was excessively conscious of. Malfoy had made a small comment about his "large arse"--something about the entire student body having brown noses. Harry scowled, but held his tongue. 

Malfoy really did hold all the power here, even if he didn't know it. Harry still couldn't shake what Malfoy had said. He was in love with him? But if he was in love with him, why did he curse him, instead of just telling him? Unless... Unless Malfoy _wanted_ Harry to pursue the cure. Unless Malfoy _wanted_ to have sex...? 

Malfoy sat on the chaise that he'd conjured. Harry found himself irrationally irritated by how elegant he looked, lounged there. Malfoy smirked. "That's enough, Potter, clearly it doesn't respond to dancing--not that that could really be called dancing, anyway. Come here," he commanded. 

Harry scowled, but he felt his insides sing at Malfoy's commands. For some bizarre reason, Malfoy ordering him around was doing weird shit to his brain. 

Harry stood in front of Malfoy; his arms were crossed. His robes were still sizzling a little bit in places, and Harry was sure his hair had never looked worse. Malfoy smirked up at him, the cool moonlight gleaming off his silvery-blond hair. Stupid Malfoy and his stupid hair. 

“Potter, I think we’ve done enough for our project, don’t you?” 

Harry huffed. As if Malfoy had done anything. “Yes, Malfoy. I think that’s good,” he ground out. 

Malfoy smirked. Clearly he knew that Harry wasn’t as calm as he seemed, clearly it _was_ a hex—if it _was_ a hex, then maybe he could get the cure…? 

“Malfoy. Cure. Now.” 

Malfoy blinked, clearly surprised. _Probably didn’t expect me to ask so directly, that’s all, he’s not really shocked._

“The… cure?” 

“Yes, Malfoy, the cure. Don’t play dumb. I know you have the leftovers of that potion and you _know_ I need it. Hand it over.” 

There was strange gleam in Malfoy’s eyes. “Oh, please, Potter. Everyone knows a simple _potion_ wouldn’t do the trick.” 

Harry was triumphant—so Malfoy _had_ poisoned him! 

“Yes, but everyone _also_ knows that the potion is already a good half of the cure. I don’t need the second half, thank you very much.” 

Malfoy smiled. “How long has it been, Potter? Two, three weeks? It becomes permanent after a month, extremely long-lasting if not treated within the first three days… I’d say it’s probably beginning to drive you mad, isn’t it? That would explain the odd looks, the quaint little bouts of anger, and the endless sexual drive. Has the need for sex driven you mad yet?” 

Harry felt his hands ball into fists. Trust Malfoy to be a total git. 

“Malfoy, what potion did you use. Exact potion.” 

“Hmm, I can’t seem to recall, Potter, it was so long ago. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have my beauty sleep to attend to.” 

Malfoy stood up, elegantly vanishing the chaise with a swish of his wand. 

Harry pulled out his own wand, pointing it at Malfoy. “The cure, Malfoy. Just tell me which potion you used, and I can make the cure myself. This way, no one gets hurt.” 

Malfoy scoffed. “With your potion-making skills, Potter, the only person who’d get hurt in this encounter would be _you_. But, I’d be willing to offer the other half of the cure, if you did something for me first.” 

Harry’s mind was racing. The other half of the cure was the sex. Sex with Malfoy meant that he wouldn’t obsess over him anymore—well, at least half as much. Maybe if the sex was really, really good, Malfoy would give away which potion it was that he used…? 

“Okay Malfoy, what do you want?” 

Malfoy’s sneer grew catlike, almost menacing. “You have to beg for it, Potter. I want to see you on your knees. Also, you have to do it my way.” 

Harry’s brain stuttered. Beg? If Harry wasn’t so, incredibly turned on by that idea, he would’ve thought Malfoy was crazy. 

Harry huffed, loudly. _Just to show that I’m not a_ total _pushover_. 

“Alright, Malfoy, I’ll beg.” 

Harry got down on his knees. Luckily, they were outside—the grass was surprisingly soft, like a little cushion. Harry glanced down. Moss, not grass. That would explain the soft texture. Harry looked up into Malfoy’s eyes. Malfoy was standing at his full height now, looking down his nose as Harry knelt. Harry fought back his two instincts: to punch Malfoy in the dick (because it was in hitting range) and to throw Malfoy onto the ground and do something _else_ with his dick. It was infuriating. 

Malfoy smirked again. “Never had to beg, before, Potter?” 

Harry glared up at Malfoy. 

“Why don’t you try starting with what you want me to do to you?” 

Harry gulped, and he could feel his whole body seizing up. What _did_ he want Malfoy to do to him? Have sex with him, sure, but what exactly? 

“I want you to—” Harry paused. This was ridiculous. “Malfoy, just fuck me already!” 

Malfoy tsked. “My, my, that was rude. Not begging at all. I suppose I’ll just leave, then.” 

Malfoy turned away, and Harry felt panic surge inside of him. “Malfoy! Don’t go! I’ll—I’ll try again! I want you to… to… hold me. Against your body. I want you to hold me down, throw me over a desk, a couch, your arrogant posh little chaise, whatever! I want you to hold me down and fuck me in the arse until I cum, then make me cum again, and again, and again, until I can’t walk the next day. I want you to mark me with your lips, your teeth, and your hands—I will completely submit to you. I want to completely submit to you. I want you—please.” 

The last word was barely a whisper. Anyone watching would have noticed that Malfoy didn’t look triumphant, though. He looked shocked. Harry was breathing hard, his knuckles white from his grasping hands. Harry’s head was bowed; he was looking at the moss, so silver in the moonlight—until he heard a sound. Malfoy had moved forwards, towards him. His fingers under Harry’s chin, forcing Harry to look upwards—at his face. Malfoy’s face was cast in shadow, and only his beautiful, bright silver eyes shone through. His lips were contorting—it wasn’t a smile, but something else. Malfoy leaned down close to Harry’s face, his lips mere inches away from Harry’s. 

“Then submit to me.” 

With that, Malfoy strode away, leaving behind a very heartbroken and desperately horny Harry Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have for now, guys, but check back again over the next week or so, I'll get around to it! Promise!
> 
> I know it's a horrid cliff-hanger and I'm sorry <3


	13. Let's Kill Him

Harry was furious. He had begged— _begged_ —on his _knees_ to Malfoy, and the git had still walked away. Harry couldn’t believe it. He stormed up to the castle, still covered in mud and scorch marks, burned in more ways than one. He raged through the castle like a tempest, almost tearing down the wrong painting in an effort to enter a secret passageway. Suits of armor and house-elves alike were all giving him odd looks. Harry was quite a sight, but he couldn’t have cared less. He was going to wake up Ron, and they were going to go hex Malfoy’s arse off.

Harry found himself in front of the portrait hole, panting and heaving with rage. The paintings all murmured their concern as he angrily fell through the hole into Gryffindor tower. Several startled third and fourth years squeaked in fear when they saw the state of him—he glared them down, and yanked open the door to the stairwell. The stairs clearly must have detected his bad mood, because there were less stairs to climb to get there—he was banging on the door to be let in within ten seconds. It was Neville who opened the door.

Neville rubbed his eyes, waking up quickly. “Harry? What’s wrong?”

The other boys in their dorm stirred—Dean, Seamus, and finally, Ron. All three had their wands out in an instant.

“Harry?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Who did this to you?”

“Are we being attacked?”

Harry marched over to Ron, grabbed him by the shirt, and yanked him out towards the stairwell.

“Everything’s fine, Ron and I just need to go hex Malfoy’s arse off. Go back to bed.”

Before Harry could properly drag Ron out, however, Ron spluttered out, “Harry! Let me at least grab some pants first! Also, explain! What happened in detention? Did Malfoy do this to you?”

The last question sounded like a threat. Ron certainly sounded ready to hex Malfoy’s arse off.

“Malfoy? Malfoy attacked you?” Dean asked. They all looked at Harry.

“Well, technically, no. It was the Chimaera.” Dean and Seamus looked at each other, worried.

“Harry, a Chimaera? On Hogwarts grounds? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Harry shook his head, but it was Ron who answered. “Crazy project of Hagrid’s—we’re trying to tame Chimaera cubs—so far, the only thing that has been tamed is my desire to ever work with a magical creature again.”

They all chuckled a little at that. Harry cleared his throat, then Neville piped up, “Harry, if it was the Chimaera that burned you, why are you going to hex Malfoy? Not, you know, that I have anything against hexing Malfoy. Actually, could I come too? It’s about damn time.”

They are cheered a little at that. Harry sighed. They couldn’t possibly navigate a party of five down to the Slytherin Common Room—they definitely didn’t all fit under the cloak anymore. Five had been a stretch back when they were eleven. But now, when they were all full-sized wizards? It was laughable.

Harry sighed again and sat down on the bed closest to the door, Dean’s. Dean shuffled over to make room, and the other boys moved to Seamus’s bed, next to Dean’s. Harry put his head in his hands. How much should he tell them? They were his best mates, after all, but should he tell them about the bisexual thing? The possible love potion that Malfoy had snuck him? The begging? Harry shuddered a little. Not the begging. He could leave that part out. Everything else could stay.

Harry took a deep breath, then began to talk.

“So this all started about three weeks ago—remember when everyone was talking about Malfoy “flirting” with me? Yeah, exactly, Neville. Bleh. It was whatever, I didn’t really care, blah blah blah. But I did care. Worse yet, I actually kind of enjoyed it—even got hard off of it.”

Ron blanched, and Dean and Seamus exchanged looks.

“Yep, I know what you’re thinking. Malfoy’s a bloke. Well, it seems that I’m bisexual. Hermione’s words, not mine. Although, looking back, it makes sense. Hermione was probably right. As usual.”

Everyone nodded at that.

“Anyway, so I figured, so what? I wasn’t happy about fancying Malfoy, but what harm was a simple crush? Until I discovered something. I don’t actually like the prick—apparently, you’re supposed to _like_ them before you think you _love_ them. I’ve been looking around at possible reasons I could be feeling and acting this way, and I’ve come to a conclusion: I think I’ve been poisoned with a love potion. By Malfoy.”

The other boys began to comment, their commentary overlapping one another:

“Just because you find him fit, Harry, doesn’t mean he _poi—_ "

“I knew it! Always knew you were a little bit gay like us, Harry, thank Merlin you finally figured it ou—"

Neville spoke, cutting through the shouting. “Harry, this is serious. You need to report this to McGonagall.”

Everyone nodded, very seriously, at Neville’s words. “Only McGonagall would be able to deal with him, and hopefully Slughorn would be able to brew you an antidote.”

Harry’s insides squirmed at the idea of getting an “antidote,” and he couldn’t understand why. It was like some weird part of him didn’t _want_ to get rid of Malfoy—not yet, at least.

Ron saw the expression on Harry’s face. “Harry, mate, you don’t have to tell McGonagall. Especially if you don’t want to mention that you fancy him in… well, _that_ way. You know.”

Ron glanced down at the front of Harry’s robes. Dean snickered, and Harry shot him a withering glare. “Shut it, Dean. Okay, Ron’s right. I just can’t tell McGonagall about this problem, it’s too fucking embarrassing. Honestly. Wanting to fuck Malfoy? I’ve faced worse problems. What we need is a way to get back at him. Something that he won’t expect. While half of us enact revenge, the other half will do research into what the fuck he could have drugged me with. Oh, and he gave me some hints by accident. He said it becomes much more difficult to cure after the third day, and it becomes permanent after a month. Any ideas on how we can ruin Malfoy’s life without making it blatantly obvious that he might actually be winning for once?”

Everyone was silent. Seamus tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing Harry. “Mate, did you say permanent? After a month?”

Harry nodded the affirmative, yes.

Neville put his face into his hands, and Dean started laughing. “H-Harry, permanent? You think it might be _permanent_ in a _week_ and you _don’t_ want to go to McGonagall?”

Harry crossed his arms. Dean made a good point. Why _didn’t_ he want to go to McGonagall?

Ron redirected them. “Listen, everyone, Harry’s got the right to make his own decisions. I say we respect them, and start brainstorming. How to ruin Malfoy’s life?”

Dean and Seamus cheered, Neville just groaned, flopping backwards, down onto Seamus’s bed.

Dean starting ticking things off with his fingers. “Dungbombs, stink pellets, belch powder—always a classic--fireworks, enchanted snowballs, forever-wet-socks, some nice muggle hair dye—”

Ron cut him off. “Not juvenile pranks, Dean. We need something bigger. Something more—Oh! Harry! I still remember the spell Mad-Eye used on Malfoy—I could turn him into a ferret again!”

Everyone laughed, even Harry. Ron always claimed that Ferret Malfoy was his go-to for creating a Patronus.

The laughter died down when Harry’s face got serious again. They all looked at Harry, who was deep in thought. Finally, he spoke.

“Guys, what if I’m not—what if I’m not even bisexual? What if the potion is messing with my head?”

Everyone frowned, but no one had any comment. Apparently, no one else had thought of this.

Everyone sat quiet for a moment more, until Ron said, “Then, mate, Hermione and I gave you the LGBT sex talk for nothing!”

They all laughed. Harry gave a weak chuckle.

“Listen mate, don’t worry about Malfoy. We’ll take care of him. You focus on figuring out what potion he used, or hex, or whatever. I’ll ask Hermione to help, I’m sure she’d be glad for something to do. She says she’s been bored with her ‘exceedingly small amounts of school work’.”

Harry smiled.

“Ron?”

“Yeah, mate?”

“I fucking hate Malfoy.”

They all laughed, and clambered back into their own beds. Tomorrow was going to be eventful, if anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, can you believe it? A fanfic author actually updating when they say they will? Unbelievable. I can hardly believe it myself.


	14. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter? In the same day? Holy shit.

The next day, Harry did his best to avoid looking at Malfoy. If a dungbomb, firework, or other sort of explosion went off, he wanted to be the last suspect. He was well-behaved the entire day. During breakfast, Malfoy got so annoyed with Harry ignoring him that he actually sent his owl with a note. Harry didn’t even look at it before _Incendio_ ing it to ashes. He could feel Malfoy’s frustrated gaze on him all throughout lunch, too. Hermione was well impressed.

“See, Harry, you did it! You got over Malfoy. You haven’t looked at him once today!”

Harry scoffed into his roast. “I didn’t get over Malfoy, Hermione, I’m trying to _act_ like I did. And look. It’s working.”

Hermione looked over Harry’s shoulder to the Slytherin table; Malfoy was scrawling something. A few minutes later, his owl came to deliver a piece of parchment to Harry. Harry promptly cast _incendio_. Hermione grinned, and Pansy stuck her tongue out. Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“So why the sudden change in attitude? Yesterday you could barely keep your eyes to yourself.”

Harry shuddered a little. “He used me, Mione. The little fucker somehow figured out that I listen when people tell me to do things. He just ordered me around, Hermione, and he even made me beg on my knees for the cure to the stupid potion. He didn’t give it to me. He made me _beg_ , and he didn’t even give it to me. The biggest problem? I kind of enjoyed it. I enjoyed begging. What the fuck, Hermione? What’s wrong with me? No. No way. I’m done with him. Love potion or not, he is not getting any goddamn attention from me today.”

Hermione smiled. “That’s the Harry I know.”

With that, they went back to their meal.

That evening, before dinner, they were having another brainstorm session in the Gryffindor Boys’ Room.

“Biting kettle!”

“Nah, how about that acne hex that Hermione used for the DA?”

“Ooooh, good one, Dean. Oh! A good old-fashioned bat-boogey hex. I bet Ginny would do it if we asked real nice, and explained that it was a good cause.”

Ron scoffed. “Hexing Malfoy is enough of a good cause in her mind.”

“Here, here,” they all cheered.

Harry suddenly had a revelation. It was ludicrous, absurd, and the only plan that seemed likely to really throw Malfoy off.

“Guys. Guys. Guys!”

They all settled down.

“I’ve got it. I’m going to torture him _back_.”

They all looked at him, confused. “Harry, mate, that’s what we’ve been suggesting. Or were you too busy thinking about Malfoy?”

Seamus high-fived Dean.

“Shut it! No, I meant the way he was treating me earlier this term. The almonds, the pudding, the _sausages_? Malfoy’s gay as a daffodil—the house elves told me. He’s no longer dating Astoria, and this love potion might be his way of trying to get _me_.”

There was a moment of silence, then they all burst out laughing.

“Harry,” Ron began, “mate, I know the potion’s affecting your brain, but _seriously_ , how could _seducing_ Malfoy possibly help with getting him to leave you alone?”

Harry had an answer ready. “Because it’s the last goddamn thing he’d expect, isn’t it? He told me himself. He enjoyed being my rival all these years because I was just that—a rival. If I begin to treat him differently, like a means to an end, or, better yet, like a piece of meat I want to consume—” the other boys flinched a little— “then maybe he’ll decide that he liked me better when I was ‘myself’. Maybe he’ll set me back to right on his own.”

The other boys looked thoughtful. Neville opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Harry, that actually isn’t a half-bad idea.”

Harry chuckled. “Thanks, Neville. I’ve been thinking, and I really think this is the easiest way to get Malfoy to change me back willingly—I just have to give in to the stupid potion and do everything I can to try to suck his dick in the most public place possible.”

Dean sniggered. “Nice potion,” he said, winking at Seamus. Seamus rolled his eyes.

“If Harry doesn’t even _like_ Malfoy and he wants to do that, think of what it’d do to _me_. You wouldn’t be able to stand for a week, let alone walk anywhere. Don’t pretend you could handle that.”

Dean shoved Seamus off the bed, and he landed with a satisfying _thump_. A small pillow fight ensued, but the general consensus at the end of the night was that they would do nothing—Harry would publicly humiliate Malfoy in the most sexual ways possible.

Only Harry himself had some reserves, secretly. What if Malfoy really, really liked his sexual advances? He wasn’t sure what he’d do.


	15. The Sexual Staring Contest

It was the next day, and Harry was absolutely prepared. His dreams had bombarded him with every way that this plan could go horrendously wrong, and oh, so _right_ , that he felt prepared to face anything Malfoy might throw at him. After all, Malfoy was right. Malfoy was practically nothing compared to Voldemort, and Harry had dealt with him. Sure, he’d died, but he was alive, wasn’t he?

It was time for the second round of the sexual staring contest, but Harry was armed and ready. He purposefully sat near the sausages, the jam, and the milk pitcher. Pulling these closer to him, he set to work. Making sure that he had Malfoy’s attention, he poured himself some milk. Maintaining eye contact, he drank some of it, being sure to allow some of it to spill over of either side of his mouth. Setting the cup down, he slowly, deliberately, licked it off.

Ron hissed in his ear, “Harry! It’s working! Malfoy’s turning pink!”

Harry grinned, and tilted his head to the side slightly, parting his lips. He licked them, spearing a sausage and putting it to his lips. He licked the sausage daintily, and slid it into his mouth. Malfoy’s eyes were practically bugging out of his head, and he looked like he had an equal chance of imploding and exploding.

Moving on to the jam. Harry carefully pulled out the tiny serving spoon. Dipping it into the jam, he let it make a very crude noise before carefully mimicking the way Malfoy had licked his spoons, two days prior. Malfoy was turning very, very red and he looked vaguely like he might faint.

Popping the spoon out of his mouth, Harry winked at Malfoy and blew him a kiss. That was Dean’s cue. Dean released the owl that had been holding onto some drugged chocolates that Harry had been gifted by one of his “fans”. Harry, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville had all agreed that Malfoy wouldn’t be stupid enough to eat the clearly drugged chocolates—nevertheless, the mere thought of Harry trying to drug him back might scare him off. It certainly alarmed Malfoy when an unknown owl dropped of a large package of chocolates that reeked of love potion, and Harry gave the most exaggerated wink he had ever made. If it weren’t for his friends, he would have felt horrendously stupid.

That being said, keeping up the sickening act during class was more difficult. During potions and Care of Magical Creatures, he made sure to touch Malfoy unnecessarily, practically caressing his face at one point. Malfoy had nearly tipped the cauldron in his haste to escape Harry’s reaching hand.

It was in Transfiguration that Harry finally got in trouble for it. He had been transfiguring everything around Malfoy into flowers— _orchideous, orchideous, orchideous_ —twirling his wand in the air, chanting it in his mind. At first, both Malfoy and the professor thought it was something wrong with the way Malfoy was casting the spell. Eventually, Malfoy spotted Harry’s moving wand.

Malfoy apparently did not appreciate the flowers, as he sent a stinging hex towards Harry. Harry just smiled and transfigured one of Malfoy’s hairs into a small rose. Delighted by the contrast between his pale skin and the deep pink of the rose, he began creating more, until Malfoy was wearing a beautiful flower crown. Neither Malfoy nor the professor were impressed.

Harry merely smiled at Malfoy while the teacher was giving him a warning, waving his fingers at him seductively. Malfoy looked away from Harry.

For some reason, something hurt inside of Harry. He was trying his very damnedest to flirt with Malfoy—why wasn’t he responding? Harry knew that this was the plan—get Malfoy to back off, take off the potion, etc. But Malfoy could at least enjoy Harry’s flirting for a little bit, before getting all uncomfortable.

The other people in the class were starting to notice Malfoy’s flower crown. People whispered to their neighbors, giggling and pointing. Malfoy jerked it off his head, throwing it on the ground. For a moment, it lay there, beautiful even when it wasn’t on Malfoy’s head. Then Malfoy lit it on fire.

Harry extinguished the flames. Malfoy lit it up again, and Harry extinguished the flames again. Finally, Malfoy took his foot and stepped on it. Harry cast a quick _reparo_. Malfoy groaned in frustration and stood up. He turned his body towards Harry, beginning to walk towards him. This had been in Harry’s dream. One of them, at least. Malfoy would see Harry’s love out in the open, and he would rush towards him, and embrace him, and they’d share a passionate kiss—

Harry was snapped, quite rudely, out of his reverie when Malfoy slapped him. Hard. Across the face. For a moment, the entire class was absolutely silent. Then it erupted. People were shouting to be heard, and Malfoy was standing there, turning pinker and pinker, until he was the color of the roses. He was breathing hard.

Harry sat there, stunned. Malfoy had slapped him.

They were both given detention.


	16. Detention (Round 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is it for tonight, I'm exhausted and I have to go to work tomorrow morning at 7 am. Toodles, hope you all like the new chapter!

It was that night, walking to detention, that Harry began doubting himself. What if he had come on too strongly, and Malfoy was genuinely scared away? Then they couldn’t even be friends after this stupid fiasco was over. Not that he really wanted to be friends with him now, but it was the thought that counted.

Harry’s footsteps echoed on the stone floors as he paced the hallways of Hogwarts.

All too soon, he arrived in front of Professor McGonagall’s old office.

Hesitating slightly, he raised his arm to knock. He paused when he heard footsteps behind him. It was Malfoy, and he was wearing the plainest robes Harry had ever seen him in—the most basic black robes, without even the Slytherin green on the inside. Harry wondered where Malfoy had even gotten such plain robes, and why he was wearing them all of the sudden—the all-black look made him look skeletal, almost dementor-like. It was highly unappealing. Suddenly it dawned on him. Malfoy was _trying_ to look unappealing. For some reason, Harry’s heart twanged with pain. Malfoy was dressing _down_ to discourage him.

Harry caught Malfoy’s eye, and Malfoy looked away. Harry felt his heart lurch. _Stupid potion_ , he thought. He reached up again and knocked on the professor’s door.

She answered.

“Gentlemen.”

“Professor,” they responded.

Harry was painfully aware of the fact that Malfoy was hanging back behind Harry, out of Harry’s arm’s reach. Harry desperately wished Ron were there—he badly needed a hug.

The professor sighed, rubbing her temples. “Boys, I expected better from both of you.”

They both began to protest, but she cut them off.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, I know that you feel this is unfair to you. Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I understand that _you_ feel this is unfair to you. Nevertheless, it is my expectation that you will be able to work together—after all, you are pursuing the same career.”

Harry felt his eyebrows raise. Malfoy wanted to be a Healer?

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Our punishment, professor?”

She smiled, sadly. “Come with me.”

They followed her up a set of stairs, down three hallways, and up some more stairs. Harry was just thinking that the place looked awfully familiar when he saw—“the Room of Requirement!”

The professor smiled. “It took some intense magic, but the faculty have been able to restore it to most of its former glory. Unfortunately, the artifact room has been lost forever. That being said, it has been given instructions. Gentlemen, please enter and serve out your detention.”

Harry walked in and was pleasantly surprised by what he found. There was a fireplace, a long, comfy looking couch, and two nightstands with glasses of water on them, one on each side of the couch. The back wall had only one word—Resolution.

Harry felt Malfoy walk in behind him, and he resisted the urge to turn around. He already knew Malfoy looked beautiful in firelight, whatever color he was wearing.

The professor closed the door behind them with a definitive _bump_.

Harry sat down on one end of the couch, finally looking back at Malfoy. Malfoy was still by the door, which had just made a clicking sound. They had been locked in.

Malfoy made eye contact with him, and tried the door handle. Locked. He cast _alohomora_. It remained locked. Malfoy groaned in frustration, jerking at the door handle as if brute force would suddenly open it.

Harry watched Malfoy’s despair grow, and felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. Malfoy looked about ready to cry, and it was because he had been locked in a room with Harry. Harry felt sick to his stomach.

“Malfoy,” he tried.

Malfoy glared vehemently at him, effectively shutting him up. Malfoy stood there, brooding, in the corner for a while longer before he began to shiver. Harry couldn’t understand why he was shivering—it wasn’t cold. The fire was actually delightfully war—ah. Room of Requirement. Of course.

“Malfoy, are you cold?”

Malfoy shook his head no, but his teeth began to chatter. Harry picked up the throw blanket and threw it at Malfoy. Instead of batting it away, Malfoy eagerly grabbed it out of the air, wrapping it around himself. The blanket started to turn blue, and suddenly Harry realized that it was freezing.

“Malfoy, the blanket—it’s freezing!”

Malfoy looked down, and, sure enough, the blanket was freezing. It had nearly encapsulated his whole body, and his arms were stuck. The ice was creeping towards his face. Malfoy looked panicked, but his teeth were chattering so hard that he was unable to form words. Harry leaped over the back of the couch and yanked the blanket off—the freezing stopped, and the blanket turned back into a normal blanket.

Harry grabbed Malfoy’s hand—it was turning icy blue—and pulled him towards the fire. If anything, it seemed to be getting worse. Malfoy was shivering uncontrollably, and his legs were beginning to give out. Harry had no idea what to do, so he did the only thing that made sense to him—he tackled Malfoy, throwing his arms around him, desperately trying to warm him up. Malfoy’s shivering stopped immediately.

They were on the couch, Harry lying on top of Malfoy. Malfoy’s teeth had stopped chattering, and the icy blueness that had been threatening to cover his entire body had gone away. Harry breathed a sigh of relief before all of his anxieties came charging back. Mortified, he leapt off of Malfoy to the opposite end of the couch.

There was silence, and Malfoy coughed once. Harry looked over, alarmed. Had the freezing magic harmed him in some way? He was going to get that professor sacked if she had somehow gotten him hurt. Harry’s worried glance apparently amused Malfoy.

“Potter, quit staring. I’m fine. The room just wanted me to sit down on the stupid couch.”

Harry sighed a little bit—if Malfoy felt well enough to be sassing him, he’d be alright.

More awkward silence, then—

“Alright, Potter, out with it. What’s _wrong_ with you?”

Malfoy’s tone was accusatory, like Harry had committed some egregious crime.

“What’s—What’s _wrong_ with me? You think me tackling you to keep you from freezing to death was _wrong_? What the _fuck_ , Malfoy?”

Malfoy scoffed, rolling his eyes. Harry was silent. Finally, Malfoy looked over and realized Harry was serious.

“No, dimwit, not that. I meant today. What’s been wrong with you. Today. You’ve been acting… strange,” he finished, lamely.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, trying to play it cool. “I dunno, Malfoy. I was just doing what you asked. You told me to submit to you. You were doing all this stuff earlier, so I figured that’s what you were into. I was only doing what you _wanted_ me to do.”

It was at that exact moment that Harry realized that he _had_ been copying Malfoy’s every move. He’d been really, really desperate to actually flirt with him, and to submit to what he thought Malfoy wanted. That’s why he had been so quick to suggest flirting back—it wasn’t because Dungbombs were childish, it was because he really did want to do what Malfoy asked.

Malfoy was quiet.

“That wasn’t submitting, Potter. That was defiance. You weren’t really flirting with me, Potter. You were mocking me.”

Harry was stunned. _Mocking?_

“Do you even know why we are in detention? Do you even know why I slapped you?”

Harry shook his head dumbly, no, he didn’t.

“I slapped you because you used me. I revealed to you that I liked you—which was unfairly obtained information, by the way, the boggart trick was cruel and unnecessary—and you used it to mock me. You humiliated me in front of the entire school. Everyone else was talking about it. You know, last night, I really thought you wanted me. We were having a good time out there. You were enjoying yourself, I think. You even acted like you liked me, for a bit. But you just wanted the “cure”. Well, guess what? I don’t have a cure. Whatever is wrong with you, I wasn’t the one who drugged you. Clearly, someone did, though. You’ve been acting even more stupid and even more brash than usual. You’re blatantly rude, and you didn’t listen when I said I didn’t want those types of advances—you harassed me. Everything you did to me today was non-consensual. It’s highly unappealing, and it’s not what I look for in a man. So quit bugging me. Leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone, just like you wanted. Was that all this was? Trying to get me to leave you alone? You could have played it so many other ways, Potter. You could have been honest. Told me that you needed space. But no. You had to pick the most childish way possible. You had to play the victim and the hero all at once. Stupid, Saint Potter. Would it kill you to use your words for once, instead of your stupid Gryffindor actions?”

Harry sat still, processing. So… Malfoy _hadn’t_ poisoned him. He _wasn’t_ drugged with love potion. It had all been in his head. He’d legitimately had a crush on Malfoy, and he’d not only failed at getting Malfoy’s affections back, but had completely ruined any chance at a friendship they might have had.

“Malfoy, I—”

“Save it, Potter. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

They spent the next hour in silence, each sipping their respective waters, thinking their own thoughts. Every time Harry attempted to break the silence, Malfoy would make some small noise of refute, and Harry would fall silent again.

Finally, Malfoy broke the silence.

“Why?”

Harry looked up, startled. Malfoy was looking right at him, and he’d said something. “Why what?”

Malfoy sighed, putting down his glass. “Why did you stand up for me at the hearing. Most of those people were right, and you know it. I _did_ kill those people’s families. I _am_ a monster. Why did you do it?”

Harry looked down at his glass. It magically refilled itself every time the drinker finished, and it was currently refilling itself. He sighed.

“Malfoy, I—I stood up for you because I believed you deserved a second chance. We were kids. I was manipulated by Dumbledore, and the Dursleys, and even the Weasleys, though I’m not sure they know it. Just because the people manipulating me happened to be on the more “good” side doesn’t mean that their methods were right. We were both emotionally hurt in a war that we were too young for. I just thought it was bullshit that they were going to punish you more than the majority of the ministry workers who helped Voldemort rise to power. I, I thought—you know—we could be friends. That’s why I fought for our education, actually. We missed the back half of our schooling—the majority of it, really, because of all these ridiculous events that just all happened back-to-back. I just wanted to be friends.”

Harry sighed in defeat.

“But you only wanted to be enemies. And I got it, I really did. When you explained that night, the first night we had detention? When you explained that you wanted me to be your rival because it felt right, it felt good, and, well, it made you _feel_? I understood that. I did. But it did kind of hurt.”

Malfoy was silent, quietly watching his water refill. “Potter, I—”

Silence.

“Listen, it’s about time. I never did tell you. I spoke to Granger, and Weasley, and even Longbottom. Hell, I told the entire Wizarding World. I told them all that I was sorry, that I regretted my decisions, and that given a second chance I wouldn’t have made those mistakes. Truth is, I think I still would. Make those decisions, I mean. I wasn’t going to abandon my mother to a lifetime of torture or a gruesome death. I wasn’t going to let my father rot in Azkaban. I didn’t want the Dark Lord to win, but I didn’t want my family to lose, either. So, I guess I’m not saying sorry, not really. I never said sorry to you because I’ve realized that I’m not. Sorry, that it. I would make those same mistakes again, because they weren’t mistakes. They were choices. I made them, and I stick by them.”

Harry wasn’t surprised—he knew Malfoy had been lying through his teeth to the Daily Prophet. He also knew that pointing this out would have gotten Malfoy thrown into Azkaban. Oddly enough, he understood. There were choices that you made in wartime that couldn’t be taken back—regret and denial only made it worse. It was acceptance where true peace lay.

“I understand, Malfoy. I do. And I forgive you, even though you don’t ask for forgiveness. When you refused to turn me in, I understood it. When Voldemort sent your mom to check on me, I understood it. When you threw me your wand, I understood it. I understand, and I forgive you when you cannot forgive yourself. I’m not saying what you did was right—I’m just saying that I understand every choice that you made, and why you had to make it. I understand.”

Harry was shocked to find that he was crying. He really, really did understand Malfoy’s struggles better than anyone else’s—losing loved ones had been hard, but they had never really been his in the first place. Growing up fast had sucked, but he knew no other life. But duty? Making decisions to protect the ones you loved, even if you or anyone else would get hurt otherwise? That was worth it. It was. He understood.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Both Malfoy and Harry had put down their waters, and were leaning forwards towards the flames. They reminded him of the Chimaera, oddly enough. Harry wondered if it was lonely, out in the pen by itself for the first time at night, with no dueling boys to keep it company.

“Malfoy, there’s something I’ve been meaning to get off my chest, too. I suspected you loads of times, when you were just as much of a victim as the rest of us. I blamed you, scorned you, and just generally was a real arse. I just wanted to apologize for that.”

They were quiet again, until Malfoy said:

“Then apologize.”

Harry was confused. “I… just did?”

“That was no apology, Potter, that was just admitting that you feel _apologetic_. Not the same as an apology. Also, I think I deserve an apology for the way you behaved today," Malfoy said, sniffing in an exaggeratedly offended manner. "It was quite ungentlemanly conduct.”

Harry found himself chuckling. Trust Malfoy to make a serious conversation light and funny again. _That’s it._ That was why he was in love with Malfoy—he could say it now. He loved him. He loved him because he could take something serious and make it light and funny. It was a skill that Harry desperately lacked and desperately needed in his life. Too much of his life had been pain and suffering—he needed someone to make it lighter, easier to bear. That someone had always been Malfoy.

“Alright, Malfoy, you win. I submit. I’m sorry for the way I behaved—but the flower crown really did look good on you. Brought out the blush in your cheek—"

Harry was cut off by Malfoy throwing a decorative pillow at him. Harry burst out laughing. It was like they were eleven again, dueling with harmless magic—the excitement of it, the fun, and that feeling of adventure. He’d thought he’d had enough of adventure.

They settled into a comfortable silence again.

“Malfoy, I wanted to ask you something.”

Malfoy sighed. “I suppose I have to hear it then, don’t I?”

Harry chuckled. “Yes, you do. I wanted to ask—when did you know you were gay? And how?”

Malfoy looked over at Harry funny. “Why do you care?”

“I just want to know. I want to check… something.”

Malfoy sighed. “Yes, well, I’ve always known something was a little off about me. My mother and I used to go to the spa to get our hair braided—don’t look at me like that, Potter, I used to have long hair—before my father said it was unseemly. I enjoyed the fashion shows that my mother and her socialite friends went to far more than any boy my age should have. It was when I first met you, on that train, that I knew I was done for. I really was uncurable. I was doomed to be heirless or miserable. I chose miserable. I don’t regret this choice.”

Harry was silent for a while, and Malfoy was starting to get nervous.

“Well, Potter? Any revelations you’d like to share?”

Harry was silent for a while longer.

“So, you do like me then. That part was real.”

“I thought the flirting made it blatantly obvious.”

“Yes, well, you’ve passed off flirting as fighting before, you know.”

“No, I haven’t! Like when?”

“Your insults are always… oddly nice. Saint Potter. ‘Nice hair, Potter’. ‘Good luck on the match, Potter’. ‘Don’t fall off your broom, Potter’. If I hadn’t always taken it as sarcasm, most of it would have been genuinely nice stuff.

“Yes, well, perhaps that’s what I told myself, too. I _was_ being nice to you, I was just also being cruel.”

They both snorted at that ridiculous statement, and lapsed back into silence again. There was no way of keeping time, but Harry could tell it was getting late—his eyelids were getting droopy. For some reason, however, the door had not unlocked—there was some unresolved thing between them that they had yet to touch on. It was then that it dawn on him.

“So, Malfoy. Astoria…? Did you two really…?”

Malfoy sighed. “Yes, Potter, I broke up with her. She was talking about marriage, and I didn’t want to get married. I know I said I chose miserable, but I didn’t really mean it. I’d prefer to remain heirless, thank you.”

“So, you’re gay. You’re actually, 100% sure you’re gay?”

“Yes, Potter, have you ever seen a straight man dressed so wonderfully in your life?”

Malfoy gestured down at his outfit, and Harry grimaced. Malfoy looked down and seemed to remember what he was wearing.

“Well, not at the moment. But usually.”

“No, Malfoy, I can honestly say I haven’t. Your outfits are always the most posh, that’s for sure—and the most pretentious.”

Malfoy laughed, and something released between them. It was out there. Malfoy was gay and he was single. Something, a little bug of hope, wormed its way into his brain. Malfoy was gay and single, and here he was, bisexual and single.

“Potter, you’re… not. Gay. At least, this is the impression I get from seeing your dating history?”

Harry had to laugh. “No, Malfoy, I’m not gay.”

Malfoy visibly deflated, although he attempted to hide it.

“I am, however, bisexual. Hermione’s word, not mine. I’m bisexual, and you’re gay, and we’re both single.”

With that, the door’s lock clicked open.

They were both up extraordinarily fast, running in opposite directions as fast as they could.


	17. Hermione, NO!

The next morning, Hermione was no where to be found. Ron said that he hadn’t seen her since last night, before Harry had gone off to detention. Harry was frustrated—he wanted to call her off. It seemed like Malfoy was innocent, and he was annoyed with himself for blaming Malfoy for yet another one of his own problems.

Also, he wanted to talk with her about the possibility of befriending Malfoy. It was at once completely absurd and absolutely brilliant. After all, the Room of Requirement thought the big problem between them _hadn’t_ been the war. The Room of Requirement decided that their big problem was…what? The fact that they were both into men? Perhaps they were meant to be something better than rivals. Perhaps they could be friends. Or more. More would be good, too.

Harry wandered the aisles of the library, looking for Hermione. He couldn’t find her. Finally, when he was about to give up, he heard very quiet arguing. Peeking his head around the corner, he saw something that confused him very much.

It seemed that Hermione and Pansy were fighting—their wands were out, certainly, and Hermione seemed angry. Her hair was fluffier than usual, having been pulled out of the puffy ponytail she’d taken a liking to. Pansy’s normally impeccable appearance was marred by a black streak across her face—apparently, Hermione had ambushed her while she was doing eyeliner. Explained why Pansy looked so pissed. They were silently staring at each other, neither twitching. Harry felt that it might be a bad time to bring up his (possible) feelings for Malfoy.

It was Pansy who noticed him first. “Potter,” she spat.

Harry nodded at her awkwardly. He still couldn’t get over the fact that she’d wanted to just give into Voldemort’s demands. While, technically, Pansy had been right that they just needed to hand over Harry to die, she didn’t know about the Horcrux situation, and so was just willing to barter him away. That still stung a little.

“Sorry,” he said. “Bad time?”

Hermione huffed. “No, Harry, I think we’re finished here.”

She turned around and swept her books off the table, lodging them securely under her arm.

“Come on, Harry.”

Pansy glared after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the Room detected the sexual tension and unspoken feelings—it wanted to give them a hint. Too bad they’re both really, really stupid.


	18. Sexual Tension? Whaaaaat

Once they were in the corridor, Hermione began to mutter to herself. “Stupid Pansy, trust her to not understand literally anything ever. Of _course_ she wasn’t going to tell me, she’d never give something like that away. What confuses me is that she seemed surprised… clearly Malfoy hadn’t let her in on it. I hope he ends up confessing to her when she confronts him—then I’ll interrogate her again. I think I’ll start looking for—”

Harry cut in. “Hermione, you didn’t attack Pansy, did you?”

Hermione sighed. “Yes, Harry, I guess I did. I couldn’t find _any_ love potions that were permanent after a month. Not a single potion—I even looked through the more obscure ones. Potions with side effects that contain obsessive feelings. Any sort of love, obsessive, or sexual potion. None at all. All the hexes were three days or less—I found only one charm that lasted up to a month, but after the month the person would stop loving altogether. I highly doubt he’d use that one on you, considering that it was your love for humanity that saved us all. Imagine the press if you stopped loving us—Malfoy would be given a dementor kiss for sure. So, you do feel love, right? Do you still feel love, Harry? This is important.”

Harry sighed a little. “Yes, Hermione, I still feel love. Actually, I think I might have a little more of it now than when we started, ironically enough.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“Well, er, I—I jumped to conclusions. Malfoy didn’t actually poison me in any way. He said so himself. Also, it must have been true, because the Room of Requirement let us go.”

Hermione was looking at him oddly. “Harry, hang on. The Room of Requirement? That was last year. The Room of Requirement hasn’t worked since then.”

Harry chuckled. “No, no, the professors fixed it. The artefact room is lost, sure, but the Room works just fine now. A little too well, if you asked me.”

“That’s where we served our detention,” Harry said, in response to Hermione’s look of bafflement.

“Ah,” she said. “So, your detention was to, what? Test the Room?”

Harry laughed. “I wish! No, the professor locked us into a room of her design and told us to ‘resolve’ things. Took us nearly four hours to do, by the way. Malfoy was surprisingly resistant, considering he was the one who flirted first.”

Hermione stopped walking. “Wait. How was it resolved?”

Harry thought. “Well, we talked about the war.”

“And the Room immediately let you out?”

“Well, no. We talked about other things, too.”

“Like?”

“Well, I asked Malfoy how he knew he was gay. He said he always knew that something was off. He talked about going to the spa with his mother, actually. That part was kind of sweet. I asked him about Astoria—I’d heard they’d broken up, see, but I didn’t really believe it until he confirmed it. Apparently, she’s dating Pansy now, by the way. He asked if I was gay, too. I said no, I’m bisexual. Then I said, ‘I’m bisexual, and you’re gay, and we’re both single.’ That’s when the door opened.”

Hermione looked surprised for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Harry, oh, _Harry_. Your problem with Malfoy, all these years… _that_ was the problem between you two? Sexual tension? That’s, that’s—"

Harry blanched. “Sexual…? We don’t have _sexual tension_ , Hermione. I just think it was because we were willing to share a personal part of ourselves—I haven’t even come out to most of Gryffindor yet! I think _that’s_ what the Room detected. A teeny, tiny bit of trust.”

Hermione scoffed. “Ah, yes, of course. And I suppose you wanted to find me to ask me how to become his… _friend_?”

Harry nodded, eagerly. “Yes! Yes, exactly. I think we could really start over—he seems open to it, and the Room of Requirement clearly thinks so, too. Well? How do I start?”

Hermione smiled. “Well, why don’t you just hang out with him normally, like you do with us? Study together, do some homework. Oh! You could work with your Chimaera cub (as long as you promise to be careful, those things are dangerous). Any normal activity, really.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Okay, but in order to befriend Malfoy, we need Ron onboard. I don’t want to go behind his back, and he _is_ the one with the biggest grudge against Malfoy.”

Hermione grimaced. “Alright, but it’s certainly not going to be easy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I feel bad using Hermione as a plot device to help Harry's stupid ass along. Then I remember that that's entirely canon and I feel less bad.


	19. Please, Ron?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya kids! Sorry for the ridiculously long wait--school got crazy then the world decided to shit itself several times over. I struggled a bit with moving back to my home from college and dealing with mental health stuff, as well as the Absolute Struggle that is trying to learn virtually. Finals were hectic and stressful, then I began my summer internship. Good thing is, I'm working for a company that creates sanitation products! Hopefully I'll be able to do some real good in the world now :D
> 
> That being said--the reason I had suddenly trailed off was because my outline had ended there (I figured I'd come up with it as I went, lmao dumbass). I've drawn up some semblance of a direction now, so sorry for any plot holes I create lmfao
> 
> Have some new chapters! I'll do my best to continue and post soon~
> 
> Hope you're happy, healthy, and safe!

“Not easy” was quite possibly the understatement of the century. Ron attempted to drag Harry out the portrait hole, claiming that they ‘need an antidote from Slughorn’. It took both Harry and Hermione reasoning him through it to even get him to consider the idea.

“Tell me, again, why I shouldn’t just hex his arse off and be done with him?”

Hermione sighed. Her boyfriend had many wonderful qualities and could often be quite gracious, but forgiving Draco Malfoy was not high on his Things To Do list. “Because he’s good now,” Harry said, impatient. “We talked last night, and I understand why he did what he did during the war. I’m not saying it’s right—Ron, quit making that face, we all did unsavory things—but I get it. And I forgive him. And he forgives us, I think. It’s about time we all moved on—remember? Forgiving is the first step to healing, that’s what the Mind Healer sai—”

“Yes, forgiving ourselves, Harry. Not forgiving those gits who caused the damn problems to begin with! If there was no Malfoy, there would have been no vanishing cabinet, there would have been no Battle of Hogwarts, and my brother wouldn’t be d—”

Ron’s voice cracked, and he buried his head in his hands.

Harry sat down next to Ron, putting his arm around him. Hermione knelt in front of them both. “Ron, I know. I’m sorry. I know it isn’t fair, and that Fred deserved more. Everyone deserved a chance at life. But we’re here, now, and there isn’t much we can do, except try to live our lives the way they would have wanted. With forgiveness. And love.”

For a while, the only things that could be heard were the quiet sniffling of the Golden Trio and several fifth years. Everyone had lost someone in the war, and it had deeply affected them all.

Finally, Ron spoke. “Alright. Fine. I’ll tolerate the Ferret—on one condition. He treats you right. If I get the faintest hint of a red flag, the faintest hint that he’s making you unhappy, I’m taking him down.”

Harry nodded, solemnly, and Hermione smiled.

Ron groaned and covered his head with a pillow. Harry could've sworn Ron said "this is gonna suck".


	20. Quidditch

It was Saturday now—they’d had their discussion last Friday. Over that initial weekend, Harry had managed to spill porridge on himself in front of Malfoy, get his foot stuck in a trick stair in front of Malfoy, and fly into a goal hoop because Malfoy had happened to glance his way during their Eighth Year mock match.

This time, they had set up a tournament-style system, with chasers, beaters, keepers, and seekers being eliminated each round—mostly by being scored on or by being smacked out of the air. They’d been playing Quidditch as a group for a while now, and this was the first game that Malfoy had even attended. Up to this point, too many people had been too openly hostile towards him for him to really play and have any fun.

Harry had told the Gryffindor boys to leave the Slytherins alone, and it seems the other Eighth Years had taken the hint from the Gryffindors. Now, Hermione was sitting in the stands with Harry.

Harry hadn't looked up from his book in almost ten minutes--he also hadn't flipped the page. Hermione studied him closely. Since they all had come to terms with his recent crush on one Draco Malfoy, Harry had been awfully quiet. She had a suspicion that Harry wasn't thinking about Herbology. He was smiling too much.

"Harry, what are you thinking about?"

"Oh, I was just... Well, Malfoy has kind of nice hands, don't you think?"

Hermione sighed, closing her book. Ron groaned, putting his hands over his eyes. Harry picked up one of the pillows that Ron had brought out and smacked him gently in the face with it. Hermione snorted.

Harry laughed at Ron’s irritated expression, handing the pillow back. Ron whacked him with it on the arm. Harry laughed harder.

"Yeah, Ron, don't you think Malfoy's hands would look better wrapped around my _d_ \--"

"Textbook!" Hermione interjected. "Harry, why don't you study with Draco, then. Spend some time with him."

Harry groaned, glancing over to where Draco sat, halfway across the stands. "Seriously, Hermione? Studying?"

"Is that what you're calling it now, 'Mione?" Ron asked, his voice muffled by the pillow that he had placed over his face. Hermione huffed.

"In that case, I think we should _study_ together," Ron said, lifting his head to wink at Hermione.

Hermione just rolled her eyes and went back to her reading. Ron shrugged at Harry and sat up, yelling at Seamus to watch out for that Bludger that’s right behind his arse—ah, too late. That’s got to hurt.

_Studying..._ The gears in Harry's head began to turn. _If he could get Malfoy to study with him, then maybe he could get things to work out the way he hoped they would...?_

Ron coughed something about "disgusting" and "ferret" when Seamus’s abysmal seeker attempt was taken over by Malfoy.

Harry squared his shoulders. He was going to do it. He was going to ask Malfoy.

He waved down Padma, who was playing Seeker for the blue team, and traded places with her just as Malfoy swapped with Seamus.


End file.
